Page 17 of Embrace the Serpent

Galen knelt before me, a strange, possessive look in his eyes. “The gods sent you to me, Saphira. They would not have if you couldn’t do this. It’s that simple.”

My heart fell. I knew Galen appreciated me, but sometimes I felt like what he appreciated was the gods, and I just happened to be the middleman. Though, this time, I wouldn’t have minded if the gods cut me out and did the work themselves.

Galen patted my knee. “Just keep at it.”

I nodded. What else was there to say?

“You just need a little motivation,” he said. “Let me show you.”

The second-floor rooms were Galen’s. At the back was a vast bedroom with a dressing room, and at the front was a sitting room that held various jewelsmithing odds and ends.

The drapes were drawn. He beckoned me to look through a gap in the curtains.

“Look at them,” he said. “All those people.”

They had started to gather the day after Galen’s boast, on the patch of Gem Lane between our workshop and Master Vyalis’s. The first day, the bravest of the bunch came into the shop with prying questions and not much interest in buying anything, until Galen had closed up and put a sign on the door that read “Closed for Very Important Business.”

Still they came to gawk. Folks from all corners of the city, most stopping for just a few moments. If I opened a window, the windcarried in voices telling the story of what they called thetask, with Galen’s boasts growing wilder each repetition.

I didn’t have the faintest idea what they expected to see from the outside. Were they reading signs in the smoke coming out of the chimney? Watching for a flicker of the drapes?

“Do you see?” Galen asked from my side. “Our fame is being made, Saphira.”

He thrust the drapes apart and unlatched the window. I ducked away.

Screams of surprise came from below.

He leaned out and waved. Not a hair was out of place; he had shaved and dressed for this role. Sunlight glinted off his squarish jaw—had he oiled it?—and no matter how the wind blew, his hair stayed in its dramatic pouf.

They shouted questions at him until he raised both hands. “Thank you for your well-wishes. This is a delicate piece—you have heard how Master Vyalis gave up? Well, I will not give up. I am close. But the art takes great concentration, and I cannot be disturbed.” He paused dramatically. “Many of you wish to commission a piece from me. I understand, so please leave your name and the deposit with the guards. Thank you, my dears.”

Someone applauded, and then they all did. Galen shut the window and drew the curtains. He winked at me. “We’ll have Grimney stoke the fire, eh? Give ’em some fun.”

I didn’t know how this was supposed to help, and I didn’t really know what to say, so after a long moment of silence, I gave him a thumbs-up.

I climbed up to the third floor, to my rooms. Well, room, singular.It was once the attic, and a fireplace bisected the space. All the chimneys in the house were connected by the flue, which meant that sometimes, when it was quiet, I could hear Grimney singing to himself in the kitchen.

Toward the back was my bedroll, and beside it was a trunk that held my three dresses and my violet-and-gold servant’s livery. Rane’s cloak was folded on top—I needed to return it. And then there were the things I’d gathered over the years.

Childish things. A feather that seemed black until it caught the light, and then it shimmered purple and green. A wooden toy man, missing his arm, that I’d rescued from the gutter. When I held it, warm flashes of memory came to me, of being small and playing with someone whose face was only an impression.

There were several dried daisy chains, each braided in different patterns. Two dozen leaves of all different sizes and shapes, pinned to the wall in a neat line. Stuff that made something inside me spark with ideas, with designs. Stuff I’d have to toss, once we were kicked out of the workshop and were living on the streets.

The other side of the fireplace was where I spent most of my time. A round window that faced Gem Lane bathed the space in soft light. My worktable sat under it, my tools neatly arranged to one side.

They were all finely adjusted for me. The handles smooth and shaped to my palms, my fingers. The gravers honed to the angle I liked, the shaping tools, the hand files, the little anvil and hammer. The block of wax, the metal bucket of water on the floor. The polishing cloths in a neat line. Even the broom and dustpan were where I liked them.

This was the only place where I was myself. I took my mother’s ring off and placed it in its box, on a stand beside my table.

Galen had a much larger workstation downstairs, that connected to the showroom. He’d sometimes leave the door cracked so customers could peek in and see the chaos. A worktable as large as a bed, stuff scattered all over it in a way that made me itch. A huge forge carved to look like a beast’s mouth. All for show. Most jewelsmiths didn’t need a huge forge, unless they were doing military work, like embedding stones in hilts and in shields. I usually just used a blown lamp that let out a tongue of flame hot enough for most metals, and it could be set right on my tabletop. It was much more convenient.

I sat down.

Lady Delphina stared at me from where she was pinned above my worktable. The drawing lacked any sort of detail about the design of the necklace, save for relative dimensions, assuming the unfortunate lady was of average size and the artist of honest disposition.

I opened the lead-lined jewel box. The yellow jewel drew me in at once—my mind went soft, sound faded—I shut the lid.

Some jewels are easier than others. Rubies, for example, generally have a warming effect. A few special specimens with unique inclusions have been documented to have other effects, but for the most part, rubies are all pretty similar. I could influence the warming effect through two things: cutting the stone and the setting. If I shaped a ruby into a smooth cabochon, its warmth would spread evenly around it. If I cut the ruby into pointed facets, its warmth would be focused and directed. The setting would then modulate and direct the ruby’s power—controlling the strength of the warmingeffect and whether it was directed at the wearer or those in close proximity. That’s how a piece like Miss Pewter’s was made: she had requested rather large and powerful rubies, no doubt to signal her family’s wealth, but wanted them to do no more than bring a soft flush to her skin.

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